What he would do for love
by Hannah-AngelOfMusic
Summary: Erik kills Raoul in the graveyard,what happens to Christine? OK, although it is based on the film, I have sort of introduced one or two things from the book, that may or may not make the story more interesting. It's up to you whether you think so.
1. Chapter 1

Christine stood there in dumb horror as the blade slashed through Raoul's fair skin. She needed to stop this, she needed to end the battle, but she found she could not move. Erik lunged again and again at Raoul, and as the blood spattered onto the fair snow from her beloved's arm. Once more Erik pushed his blade towards his enemy, and this time it fell true; Christine watched as her fiancé and childhood sweetheart fell to the ground at the hands of her twisted tutor.

She suddenly felt cold, and the world shattered about her in a dizzy swell of torment and emptiness. She could not feel the white hot tears stinging her cheeks, nor could she feel Erik's strong hold about her as he carried her into the mausoleum. Christine still stared and stared at her cold love lying at the base of her father's grave. She stared even when the doors shut and all she could hear were the rats scurrying feet and Erik's ragged triumphant breathing. Down the steps he led her limp body into the flickering light of the secret rooms underneath the cemetery. In the cold, dimly lit room was a stone platform, a single rose lying in the gloom. All around were tunnels and entrances, varying in size and darkness. Erik dropped Christine lightly on her feet standing beside the platform. Erik hurried into one of the tunnels, as she watched him in a daze. She heard his almost silent chuckle coming from the black as he returned with a large black cloak. He draped it over her shoulders tenderly and set her onto the risen block of stone. She blindly obeyed, still stunned into a semi-reality. Erik pushed her head back until she was lying on her back, and stood away. She turned her head to see the victor, and he smiled at her, staring at her, into her. Christine's eyes closed as Erik stood staring, staring, staring…

Hot red snow invaded Christine's sleeping eyes and awoke her with a deafening scream, the image of Raoul's corpse rotting in her head. She leapt off the platform, sending Erik's rose crashing to the ground. She ran desperately through a blackened tunnel, not caring where to go. Her enraged sobs echoed through the labyrinth under the mausoleum, and it was not long before she heard the manic yells of the Phantom following her. "Christine!" She could hear his feet grinding at the ground as he searched the tunnels. "CHRISTINE!"

Christine's heart sank as the footsteps were just a few metres behind her. She felt a strong arm wrap around her waist and pin her close to a strong body. She screamed and pounded at anything she could reach. "No! Let me go! Raoul? RAOUL?!"

Erik laughed and held even closer, squeezing the breath out of her small waist. He flung her to the cold ground once back in the chamber, catching her just before she hit the ground. "He's dead, Christine. He's dead! And you have no one but me, once again!" She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the wretched face of her captor to vanish, replaced by the loving, handsome face of Raoul. But she could feel his breath hot on her cheek, and sense his face close to her neck, smelling her hair and stroking her fair skin. Christine let out one last hopeless sob, as Erik lowered her to the ground. She opened her eyes, and she saw the man she loved underneath the manic facade of her gaoler, his soft black eyes burning into her soul. Her heart began to melt at the sight of him, but then she saw the blood, the snow, the handsome face of her lover, and Erik again changed into the demon murderer and the obsessed man he was seen as by all others. She rolled away and stood, looking at him defiantly. Erik backed away from her, and smiled demonically. "You're with me now, Christine. And that's all you'll ever be."


	2. Chapter 2

Christine's eyes flickered awake again, as she felt the dusty ground beneath her face. She groaned softly, and raised herself off the stone. She glimpsed Erik's shadow on the long walls, as he crossed towards her. He reached out to her, ready to stroke her face, but stopped as he saw his hands.

Stained with the blood of his rival, he saw the fair complexion of his love against his monstrous hands. He dropped his arms to his sides, realising that his innocent beauty could not be touched by such evil. He had to keep Christine pure, like her voice, oh God; it had been a lifetime since he had heard her song echo through her red lips. And there she stood, staring cautiously at him, yet there for the taking. The marks from her tears made her seem even more beautiful than the night he had sung to her. She had seemed at his feet then, but now he was at hers. But just to hear her sing!

"Sing for me, Christine." He murmured, stepping forward to her. She started back, yet still stood defiant. "Sing for me." He asked, a little louder. Christine's eyes widened in fear, then burned with a passion to not submit as easily as before. The Phantom of the Opera burned with her at the very sight of her passion. He moved toward her again, and she opened her mouth and sang, at first with a trembling quiver in her voice, then a lot stronger and soaring as she drowned herself in the music. The Phantom loved this, and closed his eyes, wishing for Christine to sing the words of love for him. His eyes remained closed as the song ended, and the words dwindled into small moans and whimpers of grief. He looked at the beauty he loved so dearly, yet did not love him in return. 'In time' he reminded himself.

"Stay there." He ordered, and she obliged, as he disappeared into one of the tunnels. He returned with a glittering red dress, crystals sewn into the fabric and a large cloak and hood to match. He handed it to her, dodging her nimble fingers with his own deadly hands. She looked in amazement at the dress, and he glowed with pleasure. He surged forward in his eagerness, at the slight favour of his prisoner. 'No, not his prisoner! She does want to be here, I know it!' Nevertheless, he stopped short. She nodded in timid agreement, and hurried into the darkness of one of the tunnels to change. Erik felt the urge to watch, and silently tread into the darkness after her.

She was already in the dress and cloak, but was desperately scraping at the walls, trying to escape. Anger surged through Erik's body, and grabbed Christine by the wrist. She gasped and stared at him frantically, knowing she'd been caught trying to escape. He sighed, his eyes clouded over. He took some rope and tied Christine's wrists together. He then tied a rope around her waist and pulled her along. She grunted in surprise and disgust. "How dare you." She whispered, stumbling along, trying in vain to pull against the rope. "Let me go! You can't have me, never!" His heart stung at her words. Yet he continued into the gloom, pulling her along, silencing the frantic voice in his head that told him she had now become his slave.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine gave up her resistance against the rope; she knew his strong grip would never let her free. She stumbled along behind Erik in a daze, contemplating everything that had happened to her. 'If only I hadn't been so foolish as to believe that he was my angel of music. If only I had listened to Meg. Meg! Will I ever see her again? And Madame Giry? And even Carlotta and Andre and Firmin!'

She wept a little at that, and the Phantom turned to her. "Do not grieve for him, Christine, you have me now." He stroked her face, then took her by the waist and ushered her gently on, almost forgetting the way he had tied her to him. Christine continued to think of all the people she would never see again, and her thoughts moved onto Raoul. 'Oh Raoul, I should've listened to you! You would still be alive if I hadn't gone against your wishes. Still believing my father was there.' She looked at the side of the Phantom's face, smooth and handsome on one side, the other hideous creature hidden by his white half mask. 'This,' she thought, rage wrecking her insides, 'was the man who pretended to be my father. Who tricked and deceived me!' She pulled away from his delicate fingers, and continued to stumble along behind, blinking back angry tears. He stopped and looked at her, sighed wearily, and trudged on, tightening his grip on the rope.

Christine looked about her. All she could see was darkness, and all she could hear were the lonely sounds of carriage wheels trundling about above her. The noises spilled together and became a mass of shouting, horses, and footsteps against the cobble streets. She thought to shout out, but found herself frightened of what the Phantom would do to her if she did. Besides, her voice was hoarse from screaming and crying. Perhaps he would let her go back to the Opera House? Her love and fiancé was gone, surely he would not need to keep her from him now? She looked down at the rope, fastened tightly and rubbing at her skin, and accepted with sorrow that the last time she felt sunlight on her face was when she had seen Raoul slain at her feet.

Had she known that that was going to be her last moment in the sun, her last time to see Raoul; she would have embraced with such love, such desperation. And him, her Raoul, she would never have let him fight Erik; in fact, she would never have gone to the graveyard at all! She was brought back from her thoughts as they met a dead end, a small hole at its base. Erik lowered himself through and reached out a gloved hand to meet hers. Reluctantly she took it and he helped her into the small tunnel. They crouched along for some distance until they reached a large shallow pool. The Phantom waded in until he was knee deep, and picked Christine up and held her above the water, lowering her into a boat a few metres away. They rowed until Christine arrived in a familiar place; The Phantom's Lair.

The Phantom let go of the rope, and Christine automatically started for freedom, but stopped. She knew she was never going to get away from him, he was toos trong, too quick, too clever, and so obsessed with her that he was not going to stand by and watch her run away. Erik's eyes glinted at the realisation she was not going to take an oppurtunity to leave. He unfastened her form the rope, breathing fanatically and stumbling over the knot. She stepped back from him as the rope fell from her, and he remembered the situation. He straightened up, and took a breath. He led her all around the lair, retracing the footsteps used on the night he had first seduced her. This time there was no emotion of the sort, on her part anyway. He stopped again at her statue, and she gasped, once more. Though not for the figure imitating her in the alcove.

Strewn all about her replica, portraits and paintings listtered the area. A picture of herself at the masquerade, in a baby pink with diamonds in her hair, a masterpiece she must call it. But standing next to her was that of her fiance, headless and grasping at her unmoven hands. His head lying in a pool of blood next to him. She turned from the paintings, ready to vomit. "You think to torture me? You monster!" She cried, storming down the stairs, trying to put as muchg distance between herself and the masked devil standing before her. "Christine! Never would I wish to torture you! It was to put my own mind at ease!"

"Then why show me them! The only excuse is that you wish to rub it in my face that he is dead! You want everyone to know that you are victorious, and that you have won your prize!" She opened her arms out to gesture that she was the prize, and Erik's face darkened. He stumbled over to her.

"Christine, my love, I regard you as no prize! Do you not see? I have freed you from that cage and set you free!"

"Set me free? By tying me to a rope and dragging me to this dungeon you call a home? What sort of twisted mind do you have, Erik?"

He ran over to her, grabbing her wrists and forcing them around his waist. "I can help you, Christine. Your voice is unique, and I have to unleash your potential and my music onto the world! This place, this cave of beauty inspires! It is no dungeon, it is more of an asylum!"

"An insane asylum!" Christine retorted, wrenching free of him and running back to the figure. She picked up all of the paintings and ripped them in half, while Erik looked on, shivering half with rage, half with sorrow. She looked at him, rage maddening her. "You think I would let you do that to me? Paint pictures of myself and my one true love headless in a pool of blood. Ah! As if I have enough sorrows!" She dropped the scraps of paper, and fell to the floor, falling straight into a sleep. Erik watched for what seemed like hours, her chest rising and falling, her brow creasing as she dreamt of nightmarish things, her hair splayed about her. He lifted her up from the floor and carried her over to the bed, draping a cloak around her. As he pulled his hand away, she grabbed onto his wrist. Barely opening her eyes, she began to mutter quietly. Erik smiled at her touch, leaning forward to kiss her. "...Raoul," she muttered. "Oh God, Raoul?" Erik frowned in anger, dragging his arms out of grasp, stalking off into the night, to relieve his anger and thirst for blood on someone else, while Christine dreamt of dancing gowns and fluttering kisses.


	4. Chapter 4

Christine awoke comfortable and warm. She blinked her sleepy eyes and felt refreshed, sitting up and staring around her. In her fury she had forgotten how tranquil and inspiring the cave actually was. She stood; smoothing the creases in the dress Erik had given her. She looked around for him, but to no avail.

She took the opportunity to look through the mess of papers scattered all over his home. Most were pictures of her, singing on stages in a swirl of colour and different costumes and dresses. Other papers were scores and manuscript paper with scribbles and notes on. A pile on the floors was a mass of crumpled paper and ripped up music sheets, all entitled; Christine's Songs.

Christine's eyes widened in amazement at his devotion to her voice. Her heart twisted with guilt at the cruelty she had shown him. She continued to rifle through the pages, humming the tune to phrases she could understand through the murderous pencil scratches. She heard a slight cough from behind her, and she spun around to see Erik, arms folded, frowning concernedly, cautiously. She lowered her eyes to the papers in her hands, and matched his gaze. She walked slowly towards him, and he tensed up, scared of her reaction to the obsessive drawings. She coughed, nervously, handing him a page from the pile. "I, I like this one the best." She hummed it to him, and his face creased in an ecstatic smile. "Do you have lyrics?" She asked, playing with a curl in her hair.

He almost sprinted to the piano. He played some minor chords, as Christine joined him at his side. "Hair as lovely as angel's song, curling round and falling long. Skin as white as fallen snow, eyes as bright as cautious doe. Song as sweet as dove's in flight, yet mysterious as the moonlight. So how can't I love you, dear sweet thing? With face as beautiful as angel's wing, my dear, my dear love, I wish that you'd sing." He finished the song, and turned to her, tears in his eyes.

"It's a working thing," he started, looking into her who he described as an angel. Christine just smiled, and took his hand. She held it to her face, and she looked at him, enchanted by his love for her. He stood up, raising his other hand to stroke her cheek. He leant in to her, and she closed her eyes and stepped back. "Not yet." She whispered, and let go of his hand. His heart sank, but again was filled with hope. She had not turned him away! She had asked for time!

He smiled, and instead embraced her, feeling the heat from her body warm his soul. Christine felt a strong safety encase her as he held her to him. She decided to stay, to cooperate and let him love her back to sanity, and perhaps grow to love him too. He had killed Raoul, and Buquet, and also imprisoned her with him, but he had loved her unconditionally, he had protected her, and he had set her voice free. She could never forgive Erik for murdering her fiancé, but she could maybe help him realise that he cannot kill his enemies, she could teach him how to be human.


	5. Chapter 5

A month had passed, and Erik's hands had remained clean throughout. He spent the day with Christine, writing music for her and talking. The night was reserved to watching her sleep, or if he could not bear his heart exploding with the love for her, he would wander the Parisian streets, soaring above the disease ridden brothels and the clash between starving poverty and fattening rich which used to madden him so. He would give her everything, flowers, dresses, necklaces, all she desired. In return, Christine would smile and laugh with him, and sing to his score.

But always, that flicker of fear could not be missed in her eyes, which enraged him so. He kept the Phantom inside him under control for the most part, but he could always feel him stirring underneath the skin. Erik hated to admit it, but he missed his love rival. Before Christine had witnessed Raoul's murder, she had been entranced by her mysterious teacher, but she could now see what he was capable of, and that would make her hesitate in all that she did, with a fear of his murderous heart resurfacing. He usually ignored it, and would laugh and be joyful with her, reassuring her of his sweet temper of late.

Christine felt the month pass easily, without any harm done to her or, as far as she could tell, anyone else. She knew her bravery was paying off, and she knew that by being everything he wanted her to be, she could keep him from another brutal murder. All day, she would all force the laughter and cheerfulness she could muster, and keep on his good side. By night she could feel his gaze on her as she lay in the bed, unnerving her, and she wondered why she was doing this. A lot of the time though, he would go out, to do what she didn't know. That was the time when she could weep and scream with rage, grieving over her love.

Erik gave her so many beautiful things, and she took them with modesty and happiness, but it scared her to think of what one false move would do to her, and Erik. She knew the Phantom was still there, she knew his gaze still looked on her with a manic desire, and she would take a sharp breath, trying to force down her anxiety. Christine could see the black eyes harden, and she froze in terror at the thought of the Phantom, but he would turn away, and he would push him back down, out of sight, but not forgotten.

"Christine?" Erik called to the woman, and no answer echoed back through the darkened cave. "Christine? Christine??" His heart missed a beat, and he frantically searched through the lair for her, shrieking her name. He ran to the side entrance, through a narrow tunnel surrounded by water, and he saw a small gap where usually he would close it up.

He froze, enraged fire licking at his ribs and chest. Erik could feel himself slipping away, and the Phantom pushed his grotesque and rotting face into his mind. He screamed with rage, grabbing a large coil of rope. He felt a movement behind him, and he spun round, hitting out at the thing standing behind him, arms outreached. The body fell to the floor and into the water with a high pitched scream. At once he saw a midnight blue dress clinging onto the frail body shivering at his feet.

He grabbed hold of her small arm and pulled Christine up to eye level. "Where were you when I called for you?" He hissed, and she trembled, frightened tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

"I...I...I was-"

"Where were you?!" He roared, little flecks of spit landing on her beautiful face. Her eyes widened in terror, and the Phantom saw in his rage his mask had fallen away, revealing the blackened skin, and pig like nose. The veins stood out around his deadened eye, and his lip curled up in an involuntary jeer.

He threw Christine again to the floor, and she cried out timidly, scurrying away from him. He reached down and took the mask, and saw his waving reflection in the disturbed water. He sighed in sorrow, and fixed the mask back on his face. He turned, and walked calmly out of the lair, locking her inside. His newly clean hands would not remain so for long, as Christine wept for her increasingly dwindling safety.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note-Sorry about the length of the chapters, everyone! I'm trying my best but I'm quite bad at writing long stuff!**

The phantom returned from his outing, rubbing the sweat from his forehead as he entered the cave. Visions of the previous hours swirled in a mist clouding his vision. Grunts and struggles, red rings around the neck marking the Phantom's presence. Mud, shovels, shallow graves. Al l this for the trembling figure before him, her eyes widened in anxiety.

His heart melted at the sight of the brown eyed beauty standing before him, brown twisting hair framing her structured face. Her chest rose and fell heavily, yet rhythmically as the gown he had bought her rose and fell in time. Her hands quivered and shook in a repeated mordent, and the murmured sighs echoing from her mouth reflected a perfect cadence at the end of a tormented and emotional sonata.

Yet his anger returned as red hot images flashed again. He saw his love scrabbling at slimy walls, desperate to be rid of him. Her creased forehead calling out for his enemy in the blackest emptiness of her dreams. And worst still, the Phantom saw the young soprano's eyes flicker with fear at the thought of her captor's mood turning. His blood boiled at the sight of her; he did not know what to do. He could not love her when he knew what she thought of him as, yet how could he possibly live without her?

Christine ventured a little towards him, cautiously and nimbly, while he stayed stock still. "What..?" she began, mumbling. She took a deep breath, and looked him in the eyes. "What did you do?" The Phantom smiled, demonically. He pulled a rope out from behind his back, unravelled in the middle and dried blood stained around it. Christine gasped, and closed her eyes. Tears fell from her eyes, and the Phantom's anger boiled up inside him once again. "What should it matter to you, anyway?" He asked, maliciously, dropping the rope into the water with a splash. Christine sniffed and rubbed her eyes before answering. "So the monster is back."

The bellow roaring from the man's mouth shook Christine to the core, not giving her enough time to react from the strong grip he had around her neck before she was on the hard ground, starving for oxygen. "A monster?" he hissed into her ear. He shook her, so her hair fell from her face to drape on the dusty floor. "A monster?!" He dropped her to the floor with a grunt and lay on top of her, pushing the last molecules of oxygen out of her lungs. Christine cried out in pain and shock, shouting for help. The Phantom grabbed a fistful of her hair and held it to his nostrils, inhaling her scent. His rough and slimy kisses caught her skin, from her eyelids, to her cheek, neck, breasts. She moaned in terror, pushing against him, trying to rid herself of him. The Phantom's mind interpreted it as something more, and grabbed her by the waist, throwing her onto the silken swan bed. She yelled in fear, and he realised what she thought. For a moment Erik saw her as the sweet, beautiful soprano who had turned his lonely life around, and he saw what he was about to do. He groaned in his sorrow and guilt, stumbling away to the alcove containing Christine's likeness. He wept bitterly, as Christine stepped forward and looked upon him. He averted her pitying gaze, so angry with what he had tried to do to her.

Christine knelt down to his level, and sought out his eyes. She held a hand to his face and gently removed his mask. He cried out and covered his face, but Christine took his hand away and caressed the ruined skin. "You do not need this anymore, Erik." She smiled, reassuringly, with no hint of hesitation. Erik relished in the touch on his horrific skin from her delicate fingertips. Christine looked at the puzzle of woven scars and long ago forgotten veins. She placed her lips on the hollowed eye socket, and kissed the swollen cheek and rotting nose with her full red lips.

The Phantom was paralysed in shock. She pulled back from him, again smiling at him, boring into his black eyes with her doe-brown. "I am your friend, Erik." She said, her voice soft, yet still filled with emotion ready to rip his soul into pieces. "Come back to my angel, do not be my captor. Promise me you won't kill anymore, I will stay with you." Erik cried with joy, and held fast onto her shoulders, light entering his face. Again Christine pulled back, looking sternly at him. "Promise me, Erik." She pleaded, still looking into his soul, and his stomach turned inside out with the look. "I promise, Christine." He replied, his voice choking. "Just don't leave me."


	7. Chapter 7

Christine pleaded with the thoughts inside her head to stop flying around in a mad frenzy. She feared Erik, there was no denying that. What had he planned to do to her? There was no question that the Phantom was too powerful to determine whether or not he would keep his promise, whether he would kill yet again.

If she had to ensure her safety, she needed to leave, and leave now. Who was to say he wouldn't...wouldn't...hurt her.

And yet, his voice, his dominance, and his eyes, all commanded her to stay. Christine was, shall we call it, hypnotized by him. He had only to say, and doubtless she would do it.

On that alone she would find it immensely hard to run. On top of that, maybe he would keep his promise? His eyes looked truthful enough, and the way his voice trembled at the very thought of Christine leaving, was proof enough of his honesty.

Christine knew Erik loved her, and he would do nothing to hurt her, and besides, where could she go? Back to the Opera House? He would undoubtedly find her there.

She had no money, no friends outside of the Opera Populaire, nothing but the clothes she wore, which were Erik's.

So Christine decided, she would stay here, in the hope that the Phantom would not emerge, and that Erik would take care of her and not harm her.

If that was not meant to be, she would escape, and find a way of living. Perhaps go to Raoul's parents and family for sanctuary?

She looked around for Erik, and as predicted, he was nowhere to be seen. She scurried around the caves, finding bags, and clothes, and loose money that would not go amiss if she were to take them. She stored them in a small crevice, where the bats had squatted in before the Opera was built.

When she had concluded her frantic packing, she paced the length of the caves, looking for some way out without detection. She memorised every stone, every walkway, and every closed exit known to her.

She tried to picture the way she had come here on her first night, when she discovered her angel was not who he said he was. This made Christine think again, for if he could lie to her then, would he not now?

When Christine failed at finding a way out, she lay on her bed, thinking of Raoul, wondering if they'd ever be together again.

Erik tip-toed through the darkened passageways in the walls of the Opera, surveying all his workers below him, frantically trying to prepare for the next Opera.

It had seemed they had forgotten entirely about Christine, which hurt him. There was no one in the world, let alone his Opera that could match her talent, grace and beauty.

He smiled as he thought back on the way she had not cringed at the sight of his demonic face, had even kissed it! 'I must stay sane for her', he thought, watching Madame Giry stride over to her daughter Meg, who was shaking and whispering. Erik frowned at this, and followed them in the shadows.

"-where she is" He caught the little Giry saying to her wizened mother, who was leaning in close and biting her nails. "No one has seen her, not a whisper, mama. And with the viscomte now found to be dead, who knows where she can be!" Meg shook, and twisted her dress around her fingers in distress.

Madame Giry laid a hand on her daughter's head soothingly. "Fret not, my daughter. We will find Christine, she cannot be far." Giry looked up, as if straight into Erik's hiding place between the velvet curtains.

Her gaze caught his eyes, and he started back. She remained still until Meg grabbed hold of her waist and hugged her fiercely.

She looked down and smiled into her daughter's beautiful blonde hair. When she looked up, Erik was gone.

Madame Giry looked around for the glaring eyes of Erik, but to no avail. A small group of shrieking ballerinas came prancing over to her, pleading with her to go through a dance routine with them. She smiled on all of them, and wiped meg's eyes, leading them all out onto the stage, while Erik watched from the rafters, his thoughts trying to work out what to do about Madame Giry.


	8. Chapter 8

Madame Giry crept silently through the slimy tunnels, across the damp floors and brushing past the age-old cobwebs. She had to find Christine, her beautiful adopted daughter. It only made sense that she would be here, with Erik. She had nowhere else to go, for God's sake! Did he think she was too stupid to realise that?

She stumbled on a small crack in the slippery stone beneath her feet, making her gasp. Still she plodded on, wondering what she would find in the deep dark caverns she had bestowed upon the Phantom.

She sighed. She still thought of Erik as the little ragged boy who had escaped from hell itself. That poor, disfigured boy, who found his way into her life. Another weary sigh escaped her wrinkled lips. Was it all her fault? Was she partly responsible for Buquet, Raoul, and perhaps Christine? She shook her head, surging on until she saw the familiar throbbing glow from the candles.

She shrank back into the shadows, preferring to observe until forced to interfere. She peeked out through her fading eyes, and saw her curly haired daughter, sat alone at a long table, loaded with food. She saw her eyes flicker about her cautiously, before she set the fork in her mouth.

She ate delicately, as she always did, but this time, she was so polite, as if her life depended on it. Madame Giry felt her old heart snap in her ribcage as she saw that little girl, encaged by the little boy she had saved. She would have called it ironic if her soul hadn't dwindled to nothing in those few seconds of torture.

She wrenched her eyes from the banquet for one, and searched the darkness for Erik. Scanning the floor, he was nowhere to be seen. She looked up to the stalactites scattered across the ceiling, and in confirmation to her thoughts, she spotted a billowing cloak hanging from a makeshift balcony carved roughly into the rock.

She stifled a scream of disgust. How he could stand up there and spy on this innocent woman, how he could torture her and keep her all alone? Madame Giry retched in anger and sadness. She looked away, tears in her eyes, and crouched down with her head in her hands.

She stayed there, trembling for some time, before regaining composure and standing up. She looked back to the table, which this time was empty. Her heart missed a beat, as she looked around the cave in vain for Christine. She looked up to the balcony to find Erik's expressionless face staring back at her. They stared like that for some time, locked together by the gaze they had on each other.

Madame Giry was the first to break it as she picked up her black skirts and ran back the way she had come. She fled down the rotting tunnels, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She let out a small scream as a cold hand scratched at a wrist.

Erik's free hand grappled at her mouth and pulled her into a shadowed alcove he had come from. She wrenched free of him and drew her skirts from him in disgust. "Until this day I had never seen you as the monster everyone else describes you as." She hissed at him through her teeth, as he sat with his head in his hands.

"Oh God, Madame, I know that I am a monster," he wailed, shaking with sadness, "But it is a sad day that I hear it from your lips." He stood and paced the small space, as Madame Giry watched.

"Erik, you need to right this and leave. Please! If you want to save yourself and Christine, this must end!"

"No!" He screamed, grabbing at his hair and shaking his head vigorously. "I can't let her go! Don't you see? I love her, I need her, oh so much!" He kicked at the walls, crumbling the rough stone that made contact with his boots.

He calmed slightly, and shook in time with his sorrow. "Anyway, it's too late now. I just can't give her up now. Do you see those ignorant little idiots crawling around up there? They cannot possibly see how much talent this girl has!" He collapsed against the wall.

Madame Giry folded down beside him. "Erik," she began, sighing as her bones creaked and shook. "Do you really think she has a future down here? All she has is a life of loneliness and uncertainty. To make her truly happy you must let her go." Erik looked down at his tensed fists. He breathed out, and turned his body to face Madame Giry.

"Alright," he decided, tears falling from his black eyes. "But please, give me time, a few more days with her. You know, to build up my courage." Madame Giry nodded quietly, and began to stand, before Erik caught her hand slightly.

"You're not…going to tell anyone about this, are you?" He asked, looking for complete honesty in her eyes. Madame Giry's eyes looked to the floor, fleetingly, before nodding and turning away. He caught her hand again, a little too strong the second time round.

"Else," he began, malice glinting in his eye to make up for the selfless act he had committed beforehand. "Else, your poor Meg may suffer the consequences…" Madame Giry's eyes blazed in anger.

She held up her hand to hit him, and he caught it easily in his hands. "You dare bring my daughter into this!" She snarled, glaring into his face just inches from hers. He looked back calmly at her, a small smile etched upon his face.

Madame Giry breathed deeply and calmed herself. "Stay away from Meg, and I shall not say a word to anyone…Erik." Erik's smile widened a little, and he shifted his hand so it was in a mock handshake position, and Madame Giry pulled away from him, and strode away. Erik tipped an imaginary hat to her steadily retreating person, and swirled his cloak back into his shadows.


	9. Chapter 9

The Phantom did not remain malicious for very long, as he saw Christine sitting in a small alcove on the opposite side of the cave, her head bent low over some sheet music. Her beautiful hair curled around her fingers. His heart melted to see her, to know these would be his last few days with her.

He felt the urgent desire to inhale her scent, to stroke her soft skin around her throat, and he strode over to her, scooping her up. Christine let out a small ah in surprise, and Erik nuzzled into her warm, white neck. Her hair smelled of, ah, what was it, lavender? He didn't care, he just knew it smelt…safe, to him. "Erik, what are you doing?" Christine asked into his hair, and he almost let out a sob to hear her sweet voice.

"Nothing, sweet girl, nothing." He half laughed, half wept, "I am just glad to have you here." Erik felt her smile faintly into his hair, and he set her down gently. She smoothed her newest dress down, an emerald green, with gold trimmings, fit for a queen. He surveyed her, grinning like a mad man, and he had to rush over to her once again.

His huge strong arms embraced her, lifting the dainty girl a foot off the ground. She gasped, unsure what to make of this somewhat overwhelming affection. Erik breathed in everything about her, remembering every touch, every sound, every sight of her. He let her go quickly and ran to the grand piano, while she swayed around in bewilderment. He gestured eagerly for her to accompany him, and Christine lightly settled herself at his side.

Erik set the music out for both of them to see, and began to play. He did not need to see the music anymore, he had played so many times. So he closed his eyes and listened to the young soprano's voice soar above him…a voice of an angel.

Erik blinked back tears at the thought of losing her. The song ended, and he opened his eyes to see Christine looking at him, incredulously. He stood up, towering over her, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. Christine averted her gaze from him, and stared at the floor, blood rushing to her cheeks. Erik laughed inwardly at her modesty. _'My God, how beautiful she looked when she blushed!' _Erik sat down again at the piano, and began to play.

He looked at Christine while he played, and was not surprised to see her shocked face as she recognised what he was playing. Erik had changed the composition to an entirely piano suited piece, but the original melody still remained. Ended with a broken minor chord, he cracked his fingers and looked up at his bright young student and love expectantly. "Greensleaves." Was all she could mutter in amazement.

"Yes." Erik smiled in reply. "I have extended it a little, for my own enjoyment, it has been a small task for me of late." He stood, handing her the score, while she leafed through them in awe. "Do you know who composed this, Christine?" He asked, excited to explain his small obsession with the piece. To his delight, she shook her curls and looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"It was Henry VIII" He said, taking her small hands in his large. "He wrote it for his second wife, Anne Boleyn. He loved her so much, you know. She lead him on for six years before making he made her Queen of England in the 16th Century. He wrote it for her, her beauty, talent and wit inspired everything he did." Christine stared at him, unsure of why he was telling her this. Erik decided to end her confusion.

"Christine," he began, gripping onto her hands for dear life. "You are my Anne Boleyn. Everything I do, I do for you. You inspire me, you lure me into paradise, and only when you leave me I find myself back in the gloom. I cannot live without you. I need you so. I…I love you."

Christine stared at their hands for a moment, before speaking. "I, I don't know what to say, monsieur." She mumbled, her brow furrowed and her hands limp. "Say yes," Erik replied, sitting opposite her, looking her in those soft eyes.

"Yes?" She frowned even more, before the sudden realisation dawned on her. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "To my proposal." he replied, bending low on his knees.

"Christine Daeé, my Anne Boleyn. Will you be my wife?" He kissed her hands, and looked up at her. Christine's eyes darted to and fro, unsure of where to look nor what to do. "Erik, this is quite an important thing," She started, still looking anywhere but his face.

"I don't know what to reply, right now. It is…a lot to think about." Erik bowed his head in disappointment, but he could feel his insides burning in fury. '_She said no?!'_ It seemed as if Christine sensed this.

"It is not a no, Erik." She added quickly, and stood warily. Erik stood with her, trying to intimidate her into an answer, but she remained stern with her indecision. She broke off from him, heading towards her bedchambers. She stopped as she reached the red velvet curtains, and turned to him.

"Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII beheaded her, did he not?" She asked, still thinking in his comparison.

Erik nodded grimly. "Yes, for treason." Christine nodded once, and headed into her bedroom without another word.


	10. Chapter 10

Christine was, to put it bluntly, terrified. She paced the room, trying to figure out what to do. If she said yes, she would be signing away her freedom. If no, then there would be no freedom for her anyway, not in this world. What is life without freedom? What is freedom without life?

She walked every inch in the room, seeing everything, yet not caring. She pulled at her hair and scratched at her cheeks in despair. She let out a small sigh of grief and flopped onto the bed. She suddenly stiffened, experiencing an epiphany.

Her mind flew through all the memories of her search of the cave, to where she had hidden her emergency bag. A small smile crept to Christine's lips in the hopes of all her torments ending. She peered out from the curtains, and saw with glee the Phantom had gone.

She crept over to the small nook where she had stowed the satchel, and with delight, discovered it was still there. She left it there in case he returned, and half leapt off the platform onto the lower levels, landing catlike below. She retraced the walls and the floors, finding once again, nothing.

Her hope began to fade, and she sat softly onto a dining chair. She looked about her, wondering if she would stay here forever, sighing as two months had been an eternity here already. Her eyes wandered upwards as she tried to let her mind feel the sun once again. Though she could see the sun's yellow heat in her memory, still she froze solid.

Her eyes had spotted a gloom resonating from the corner of the ceiling, with a sort of makeshift ledge carved into the rock. Christine felt violently sick as she remembered the countless times she had dined in that spot all alone.

Perhaps not so alone after all.

She sprinted over to the wall the balcony was on, and scoured it desperately for foot holes, or perhaps a hidden rope. When the wall revealed nothing, she began to think more like the man she had lived with for those past months.

She began to rub at the walls with her palms, the rough rock cutting into her flesh. The rewards, though, were worth it, as sure enough, the rock began to pull away in some parts. She stifled a laugh of triumph as she tested out some of the holes, and ran back to collect the bag. She began to climb, but stopped.

_'That poor man,_' she thought, thinking about Erik, trapped in the Phantom's evil body. _'He does not know what he has done to me, and for that I could not leave him. He deserves to know how I feel about him.'_ She made sure the Phantom was not close, and picked up a pen and paper, scribbling her heart's deepest secrets to him.

_Erik,_

_I am sorry. I have to go. And I doubt you shall ever see me again. I could not remain trapped in here any longer. I must be free! Free to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Surely freedom is all you'd want for me? I know all you have ever done is love me, and in any other circumstance that would be wonderful. But I cannot live like you Erik, I just can't. I have to live my life. Please let me do it, I cannot be that Anne Boleyn or the Angel of music that you yearn for. Please forgive me, I cannot bear to break your heart._

_I'm going to go far away, and never return to Paris. Please don't try to find me, for I know it will break both of our heart's._

_Christine._

The tears ran, fast and furious, as she sealed the envelope and left it on the keys of the great organ. She rubbed her face hastily, and returned to the hidden balcony. She scrambled up, easier than she would have guessed and clambered onto the ledge, which revealed a long deep tunnel.

She found a small torch hung above her, and she warily entered the gloom. She held in her screams and gasps as rats scampered over her feet and a slight breeze would suddenly pick up. She wandered through the darkness, unsure of where the tunnel might lead, when she spotted dots of light coming from the ceiling up ahead.

She picked up her speed, breathless in the knowledge she would soon be free. She looked up to the brightness, and squinted, adjusting to the sudden change from gloom to light. She heard rumbling carts and street sellers calling out to passers by. Christine almost danced in glee as she pushed at the grid that she was under.

It came away easily, and dust fell into her hair and face. She lifted herself up through the gap and wriggled her legs and bag out, replacing the grid haphazardly after her. She got to her feet, and stared at the sights and goings on of a normal market day, as tears streamed from her eyes. She breathed out, finally feeling the warmth of the Parisian sun on her face.

It took her a few moments to see an elderly gentleman staring at her through half moon spectacles. She bowed her head to him, and began to walk away. "Wait, mademoiselle!" He cried, hobbling after her. Christine stopped and turned to him, anxious that he had something to do with Erik.

"I saw you come through the grid," He began, his wrinkled face turned up to her. "Tell me, mademoiselle, what were you doing down there in the sewers?" Christine was taken aback, trying to formulate a suitable excuse in her overjoyed head. "Pardon monsieur, I was retrieving something." She lied. She had hoped it was an acceptable lie, but the old man's face wrinkled in scepticism and amusement.

"Indeed." He replied. "Well, Madame, I can see you do not wish to tell an old stranger like me, and I suppose that that is your decision. But please, to put my mind at ease, might I give you a ride to wherever it is you want to go? And perhaps a bite to eat?" Christine felt new tears springing to her eyes by the old man's act of kindness. She nodded, smiling, and took his extended arm.

He opened the carriage door for her, and she stepped daintily inside while the man got in the opposite side. "Now my dear," he spoke kindly, with a gentle quiver in his frail voice. "Tell me where you would like to go." Christine stopped, looking out the window thoughtfully. She had not thought of a plan when she had got out of the lair. She thought England, Italy, Spain, Meg. Meg! And Madame Giry! Christine whipped around to see the man.

"To the Opera Populaire, please, monsieur." he nodded, and knocked the front driver's seat with his umbrella. "I heard the woman, monsieur." the driver said, speaking in a Cockney accent. The carriage started abruptly, and drove away from the hustle and bustle of buyers and sellers.

"So," Christine began, eager to talk to someone after all that time. "What is your name, monsieur?" The man seemed to have woken from a slight daydream, and answered simply; "Marc." He smiled again, and stared at her, waiting for another question. "And what do you do? I mean for a living? This certainly is a fine carriage."

"You mean what did I do! My dear, look at how old I am! I was a very rich man in my youth, all inherited from my father. I didn't do anything really, except invest in small companies. Though I stopped doing that once my wife, Marguerite, died around twenty years ago." He fell silent, reminiscing about his wife.

Christine's heart sank as he saw the kind old man remember his wife that he had lost so many years ago. Her mind drifted onto Erik, and what he would do when he read the letter, but she shook that out of her mind. "I am sorry to hear that, monsieur. May I ask-"

"Childbirth." He replied, brought out of his memories. "Yes, my second son. I doubt he seemed to get over it, not even until his death." Christine cringed in horror and guilt at bringing up such pain for the man she had known not five minutes! She looked away from Marc, her cheeks flaring. "I am so sorry monsieur." She said quietly.

They sat there in silence for five minutes, until Marc broke it. "So, my dear, you have not told me your name." Christine laughed at her impoliteness, and Marc shook slightly violently in his own fit of laughter.

"I am sorry monsieur, my name is Christine. Christine Daee." Marc sat straight up, his eyes bulging and his mouth open. "Arrêt!" He shouted to the English driver, and the coach stopped suddenly. "Daee?" He whispered, as Christine edged towards the door in fear. "Oui, monsieur." She replied timidly, averting the man's gaze. "Christine…Raoul." The man said, almost to himself, and it was Christine's turn to freeze in amazement. "You knew him?" She asked, excitedly, grabbing the man's slight hands and staring frantically at him." Marc nodded, retrieving his hands from Christine's cold grasp. "He was…my son."

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Christine stared with a thousand emotions running through her mind. Confusion, safety, misery, happiness, bewilderment. "Your son?" She repeated. "He, he was my-"

"Your fiancé, I know." He replied, staring in amazement. He looked away, then looked back and grabbed Christine's shoulders, and pulled her close. "Christine," He said urgently. "I need you to tell me what happened to my son. He was stabbed in the graveyard, and he was alone. Christine, do you know who killed him?"

She opened her mouth to tell him, but saw Erik, running about the lair, shouting and calling for her, loving her. She knew she couldn't condemn him to death, though he had condemned her true love to his. Marc was still staring frantically at her, and she closed her mouth. "Where have you been these months? No one has seen or spoken a word of you! And where is my son's killer? Tell me everything."

She sighed, and began to tell him what had happened. She spoke truthfully, apart from telling him that Erik was Raoul's killer. She told him that Raoul was alone when she was taken, and she was not there when he was murdered. Neither did she tell Marc where she had been or who she was kidnapped by. She told him what went on between her and her kidnapper, and how she escaped.

By that time the coach had restarted and had arrived at the Opera House. Marc instructed her to pack all her belongings, inform Madame Giry of what had happened and return within the hour. The coach would then pick Christine up and take her to Marc's summer home in Chantilly, where she would be able to stay as long as she liked. Christine thanked her would-be father in law and disappeared up the steps of the Opera House.


	11. Chapter 11

Madame Giry hugged her shawl closer around her shoulders and made sure all the girls were in bed. She smiled on all of them, thanking God that she was the one that was able to mould their raw talents in to something unique.

She turned on her heel and walked slowly to her own departments. Closing the door, she shrugged the cloth around her onto the bed and switched on the gas lamp. She gasped, her heart skipping a beat as a figure moved quickly over to her.

"C'est moi, Madame, It's me!" Christine whispered, placing her hands on her stepmother's shoulders. Madame Giry gasped in delight and wrapped Christine in a fierce hug.

"Mon Dieu, Christine! Thank God you are safe!" She looked into her young adopted daughter, looking for any signs of ill treatment. Christine gazed intently back at her for a moment, then seemed to realise something, and shook her head.

"Oh Madame, I know you have so many questions as to where I've been, and I really want to tell you. But I haven't got the time, and I really must-"

"Don't be stupid, child. Sit down for a while, you must tell me how you got away from Erik. He didn't just let you go?"

Christine thought for a while, and then her face darkened. "You knew where I was?" She asked quietly, venom taking a slight undertone to her voice. "You knew Erik had me captive?"

Madame Giry searched the floor, guilt seeping into her old bones. "I…I did, Christine. And I am sorry, you see-"

"No, I don't see, Madame. I was left all alone, in fear of my life for two months, and you didn't even help when you knew all along?"

"Christine, please listen-"

"No! How dare you! Why couldn't you help me?! I bet you planned this with him all alone. You planned Raoul's death!"

"That is a lie!"

"I don't know what is truth and what is false, anymore. Not now, that I know that you betrayed me!" Christine shook her fists above her head in rage storming around the small room, while Madame Giry shook on her feet.

Christine turned to her, her teeth bared and her eyes wild. "Well I shall have nothing to do with either of you, anymore. I am leaving the Opera House, and never coming back. I have found Raoul's father, and he is taking care of me. Think of it, Giry, a fresh start for that stupid, naïve, innocent little choir girl everyone thinks of me as!" Christine stormed to the doorframe, picking up a battered leather suitcase, and disappeared down the long hallway without another look back.

Madame Giry clutched her heart in her pain, and sank to the bed. She took slow, long breaths, regaining her composure. Tucking a loose strand of grey hair behind her ear, she stood again and walked back to the girl's dormitories.

A cold shiver running down her spine told her the evening was not over yet. Her heart stopped as she saw a dark shadow standing over one of the girl's bed. Silently, she craned her neck to see if she could discover who was in the bed. She choked back a scream as she saw the messed up blonde hair of her daughter, blissfully unaware of the man standing over her.

Tears fell from the old woman's eyes as the figure turned to face her. The manic eyes surveyed her with malicious vengeance. "Where is Christine?" The Phantom asked, taking a slight step towards Madame Giry. Madame Giry gasped in air, backing up against the wall, yet remaining tight lipped.

The Phantom shrugged, and pulled back the covers gently on Meg's bed to reveal the slight girl in her shift, frowning as the temperature change was registered. "Don't!" Madame Giry whispered urgently.

"Then tell me where she is!" The Phantom demanded, striding over to her and grabbing her neck. Madame Giry held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut.

"I-I don't know! Please believe me, I don't know." She felt her face beginning to purple, and red dots appeared in her eyelids. The Phantom loosened his grip on her, and she slithered to the floor, a small sob escaping from her lips.

Madame Giry and the Phantom froze as a small girl moaned in her sleep, and turned over. The Phantom held his face an inch from Madame Giry's, his eyes unblinking. "Well you'd better find her then, and bring her back!" He hissed, and Madame Giry winced.

"I can't Erik, I just can't. She's free now." The Phantom sighed, and walked heavily over to Meg Giry. He caught her hair in his fingers, lifting it to his face, and Madame Giry jumped to her feet.

"Alright! All right! I'll do it, I'll find her." She saw the Phantom smile, and he took out a small knife. Madame Giry held her breath, her heart beating rapidly. He cut off the hair that was in his fingers, and passed it gently to the shaking old woman in the corner.

"A reminder of your cause." He whispered silkily, cuffing her chin playfully, though the juxtaposition of the action was agony to the woman. He returned to the sleeping child, picking her up easily and gently, nodding his head to his former saviour, and strode into the shadows, vanishing, as Madame Giry sunk to the floor into a fretful sleep, still clutching as the soft blonde hair of her daughter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Guess what I did, readers. I went to see Phantom live in London last night. It was the most amazing thing i've seen in my entire life! If you have the chance, I urge, no, I beg you to take up the oppurtunity to see this. O...m...g!**

Christine wandered about the greenness of Marc's garden and breathed in the scent of freshly cut lavender all about her. The sunlight lit up her pale face, the consequence of being in the dark for so long. She pushed all thoughts of darkness from her mind, and looked about her, from the grand manor house made of red brick and open windows, to the trees below her on the hillside and the glittering lake at the foot of them.

She smiled at all the beauty around her for the past three days, stifling an ecstatic laugh at the freedom she had obtained by skill and luck. She looked over to the house, and saw Marc and a few of his friends sitting in the conservatory observing her with confused expressions.

No doubt Marc had tried to wrestle the situation into a straightforward story for them, yet with no avail. Her cheeks flushed and she looked across the house, to see if anyone else had seen her foolish idiotic grin. Fortunately she saw no one, and yet, unfortunately she saw no one.

Christine, although she had now found her freedom, she still felt lonely. The house was an old man's house, and had nothing for her. She only had Marc for company, which was often a joy, but Christine needed to find someone her own age to have as a companion, and one who has the same interests as her. She could not sit by the window sewing and dancing around in the gardens all her life!

She sighed, and trudged back to the house, her happy mood for the first time faltering, but only slightly.

To her surprise a small girl was sitting on the steps leading up to the gate. The young girl was dressed in rags, clutching at a small dirty bear. Christine tilted her head, unsure of what to do. She stepped nimbly over to the girl, and touched her lightly on the shoulder. The girl jolted, staring up at her timidly. Christine stepped back slightly, so as not to frighten her more.

The girl stood up, and curtseyed, playing with a strand of dirty blonde hair. "Bonjour, Madame." The girl whispered, Christine nodded to her, still frowning at her. "What are you doing sitting there all alone, child?" Christine replied, and the girl began to fidget uncomfortably.

"I am so sorry Madame. You see I was waiting for my brother, Madame, and he's taking a little longer than usual. I am very, very sorry Madame." The girl's eyes widened, and began to brim with tears. The frown lifted from Christine's face, and she leant forward to the girl, cupping her small face in her long hands.

"Dear child, do not cry! It is no crime to sit here! I am just concerned for you, you should not be here alone!" The girl nodded, and wiped her eyes with the back of her eyes. She looked away from Christine's sympathetic face, towards the road.

A small figure appeared slowly at the end of the road. "That is Lucas, now, Madame! I must go and see him. Merci beaucoup, Madame, Thank you!" The little girl ran over to her brother, while Christine watched in her wake.

The young girl greeted her brother with a fierce hug. The boy seemed to stumble, and he held onto her sister for support. The girl grabbed him by the shoulders, and her brother slumped in her grasp, falling to the floor.

Christine gasped, picking up her skirts and running to the duo. "Lucas! Lucas!" The girl cried, as Christine reached them. The boy was small, and quite skeletal. He was dressed in brown trousers and a dirty ill-fitting shirt. Christine lifted him fairly easily, and ran back to the house, his sister running madly at her heels.

Christine reached the house, shouting for Marc and the household's physician. She laid the small boy onto a large sofa, and the boy groaned in response. Christine stroked his forehead, shushing him soothingly. The physician arrived before Marc hobbled in, and began performing tests on the boy.

His sister, clinging desperately to Christine's dress, mumbled to herself over and over, tears flowing freely down her face. Christine knelt down to the child's level, wrapping her arms around the girl. "He shall be fine, my child. This physician is the best in Paris, your brother will be fine!" The physician turned to Christine when he heard his title being mentioned.

"Perhaps you should take the child out of here, Mademoiselle Christine, it may be upsetting to her." Christine led the girl out of the room, sitting her in the parlour, not far from the room the sick boy was being treated. Christine fetched her a glass of water, which the girl took gratefully, gulping it down.

"What is your name?" Christine asked gently, smiling upon the girl.

"Marguerite." The girl replied simply, her voice gaining volume as she realised the woman was not going to hurt her.

"It is pretty," Christine said kindly, "My name is Christine." Marguerite nodded, smiling timidly. They were silent for a while, before Christine broke it. "Where are your parents, Marguerite?" She asked. Marguerite fell silent.

"They are dead. Lucas and I lost our mother two winters ago, then our father died last summer. We had a little sister, Cassandra, but we couldn't feed her. Now it is just the two of us, Madame." Christine frowned. "I am so sorry to hear that, my child. You have nowhere to go?"

"No," the girl replied. "We mostly sleep on the streets. The brothels usually are fairly kind to us, as long as we don't get in the way of business." Despite the sombre conversation, Marguerite giggled, and Christine smiled a little. Marguerite sighed, and stared at the floor.

Lucas' groans crescendo through the walls, and Marguerite's eyes widened, Christine walked towards the door, and closed it. "Marguerite," Christine began, sitting opposite next to the shivering girl. "Would you like to stay here for a few days, you and your brother, until he gets well again?" Marguerite snapped her head up towards Christine, her eyes glittering. "Oh, Madame! I mean, if it is not too much trouble, it would be fantastic!" Christine laughed, and gestured to the grand house.

"I'm sure we'll manage to squeeze you in somewhere! Go and fetch a maid and we'll see if we can fin you some clothes." Marguerite laughed brightly, and Christine's whole body warmed, seeing that she had done some good in the world that day.

The young girl ran off, and Christine smiled after her. She sighed, and picked up a book from the shelf, beginning to read. She heard the doorbell ring, and the maid answering it. A few mumbled comments from down the corridor signalled an interruption.

A maid bobbed a curtsey as she opened the door, and Christine stood, placing the book on the chair. "Begging your pardon, Madame," the maid started, her head bent, "A lady from the Opera House is here to see you." Before Christine could reply, the maid was replaced by an old woman in a tattered cloak.

Christine folded her arms, staring daggers at Madame Giry. "What is it that you want, Madame? I think I made it clear that I never wanted to see you again." Madame Giry stood her ground, a grimace spread across her face. "I know Christine, but there was no other choice. You must help me."

"Help you? Why on earth should I help you? Perhaps you are the reason I was locked away from the world for two lonely months! How could you possibly plead for my help?!"

Madame Giry's eyes began to stream, and Christine's heart softened a little. Though the old woman had hurt her, Christine still couldn't bear to see her adopted mother upset.

"Christine," Madame Giry sobbed, her face in her hands. "He has Meg! He has Meg!" Christine's heart stopped completely. She could picture Meg in the same situation she was in not a week before. She forced herself away from those caves, back into the room with the distraught woman rocking on the floor.

Christine could see in the old woman's hands, soft blonde hair tangled between her wrinkled fingers. Christine gasped, kneeling to the woman, cradling her in her arms. "Madame, it will be well. We will find her! We will get her back!"

"No, no, no, Christine, you do not understand." The woman whispered, gasps of air sounding throughout the pale wearied lips. "In exchange for my daughter, he wants…wants you."

An 'oh' escaped Christine's lips. Would her torment never cease?" She helped Madame Giry back to her feet, guiding her to a chair. In turn she sat opposite, her brow creased in thought. Madame Giry's sobs subsided until they were not much more than sniffles and sighs. Christine looked up at the ageing dance teacher. "Then," she began, getting to her feet, "then there is only one thing for it."

Madame Giry and Christine clambered into a carriage, heading towards the Opera Populaire for perhaps the final time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Apologies about the possible change in language used here, ladies and gentlemen. I have been reading a lot of Tudor books and am at this moment watching 'Elizabeth'. So i am terribly sorry if i sound a tad oldy worldy!**

Meg awoke, abruptly and in a complete state of bewilderment. She looked about her, twisted scraps of paper and white cloth scattered around her person. She shook out the sand from her blonde hair, rubbing away the mud from her face. She looked up and around, seeing that she was in a cave.

She gasped, and scrambled to her feet. The phantom's cave. Tears fell in her panic as she wondered what she had done to deserve being here. She turned her head this way and that in search of her captor, racking her brains for an acceptable speech to persuade her release. When she made sure she was alone, she fell to the floor, opening the crumpled paper at her feet.

Drawings of a figure in a wedding dress, clefs and musical notes scribbled around her. Meg looked closely, at the figure with large brown eyes, full red lips and twisting hair. Meg dropped the paper, and ran to an alcove, sensing Christine's presence. "Christine, thank God-" She began, swinging into the small space to warn Christine. Meg screamed, backing away instantly, for it was not Christine standing there serenely. Just an image of her, standing as if alive.

Meg screamed again, running around the lake in search of aid. She felt a rough hand grab her jaw and smother her yells. She lashed out, kicking and hitting behind her. She was turned to face the Phantom, and pinned tight to his strong body. "You freak!" She screamed, and the monster only laughed. "That is right, little Giry, a freak! You'd think I'd tire of the word, but it only rings out sweeter each time!"

He caught a tight hold of her hair, and dragged her across the floor, her screaming and sobbing until he dropped her carelessly to the floor. As soon as he did this, Meg scrambled away from him, huddling in a corner. The man surveyed her, before throwing a simple white dress at her curled little body. "You'd make a pretty little wife, girl. Let us hope your idiot mother and your sister let you have the chance!"

He strode away, laughing to himself, while Meg pulled the dress around her, and sobbed for a miracle.

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As the carriage drove maniacally towards its destination, Christine twisted at her skirts in a panicked frenzy. What had she done? It was foolish to believe the Phantom would just give her up. Simply madness. And what did she intend to do when she confronted him? She couldn't just return to him? Or could she?

She tightened her grip on the cloth around her knees. It was true that she had deep feelings for Erik, he who loved her so. He who loved her deeply and passionately, he would protect and provide. She would sing for him, laugh with him, and they would love each other. But how long could it last before the Phantom returned? Who loved her in the same body, but with another meaning. When she was with him, she would see his lustful gaze caress her body.

She shuddered, and felt Madame Giry place a shaking hand on her knee. Christine darted her head towards her, without meeting her sympathetic gaze, and returned to gazing at her hands. She thought of poor Meg, in the same position she was not a month ago.

Christine shook any fears from her mind. She had to do this, for Meg. For her little sister. She could only hope that Erik would be merciful to her. That was all she could hope for.

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Madame Giry was the first to leave the carriage, anxious to see her daughter and whether she had been well taken care of. Christine moved slowly, as if her and her foster mother had switched positions, switched lives and ages.

Madame Giry watched, heart broken, as she traded her this young beauty's freedom for her own daughter's. She fought the tears away, and extended her arm to the girl, watching cautiously and invisibly into the Opera House. They walked quickly and quietly down winding staircases, darkened tunnels until they reached his cave.

They quickened their pace, making sure not to cast too great a shadow. And there she was, little Meg, in a beautiful little dress, shaking slightly, but sifting through papers. Madame Giry breathed a silent sigh of relief as she realised her daughter had not yet been harmed.

She resisted the temptation to fiercely embrace her child, and herself and Christine warily made their way over. Meg gasped a little as Christine laid a hand on her shoulder, but stopped as she saw who it was. She stifled a sob and hugged both of them, raining kisses onto her mother. "I thought you wouldn't come mother! What have I done to deserve this?"

Madame Giry felt her daughter's words cut through her heart like a knife. Meg had done nothing, it was all her own doing, not even Christine's. The old fool had brought this demon onto her daughters, the Opera House. She shook her regrets from her mind, forcing herself into the present. "How long has he been gone, Meg? Is he still around?" She whispered urgently. Meg shook her head.

"He has been gone for some time now. About an hour, I think. If we go, we must go now, and quickly." Madame Giry nodded, and turned, heading towards a dead end. Christine put her hand on the old woman's shoulder. "Have you lost your wits, Madame Giry? We did not come this way!"

Madame Giry shook her head, smiling a little in the dank uncertainty of their surroundings. "Ah, child, I have lived here too long." She smiled, as the fact that she would not return to her beloved home again dawned on her. She swallowed, putting on a brave face, and started pressing against the wall.

The rocks began to grind against the floor as it pulled back. Madame Giry returned to the singer and the dancer, and held their hands, before leading them towards the secret passageway. They all stopped and gasped simultaneously.

For there, standing in the gap between freedom and hell, was Satan himself, with his eyes aglow.


	14. Chapter 14

Madame Giry watched in horror as the Phantom shook in uncontrollable anger, Christine shaking in rhythm to him, yet with fear. She reached behind her for her daughter's hand, and stepped slowly backwards. She reached out her other hand for Christine in front, but the Phantom's sharp glare hit her with full force, and her hand fell limp to her side.

"Erik…" Madame Giry began, but the man held up his hand to be silent. A smirk that looked more like a grimace etched itself across his unmasked half face.

"Did you honestly think that you foolish women could outrun me, out-hide me?! Bah!" He charged at Madame Giry, almost knocking her to the floor, and grabbed at Meg's blonde hair. Madame Giry yelped, scrabbling at the Phantom as he dragged her daughter away from her. Christine screamed, "No! No! No!" She waded into the lake after them, pulling at Erik's arm as he ignored her, stalking into the gloom.

Meg yelled in pain and fear, trying to unwind the man's fingers from her hair. Madame Giry felt her heart sink further and further into the abyss. She watched in despair as the man she had once saved dragging her daughters off into the gloom.

She recovered her senses, and jumped into the knee-deep lake and followed as fast as her old bones could carry. The darkness swelled around her, and her eyes took time to adjust. She held her breath down the long tunnel she had followed them into, dreading the sight she may say once she finally caught up.

The whispered screams and echoed denials bounced off the walls into the woman's old ears, bringing back fated memories of carnivals, grunts of pain and strangled gasps of an evil man's final breaths. Madame Giry wondered how different her and her daughter's lives would be if she had never witnessed that panicked murder.

She sighed, wondering if Christine would have been happy. Voiceless, perhaps, yet happy. Meg would never have been dragged into this twisted love affair, and Raoul would still be alive. She shook the regret from her head, focusing on the crescendo of wails and the ominous glow coming towards her as she stepped up her pace.

She felt her lungs tighten and writhe in agony as she observed the tragic scene in front of her. Meg knelt on the floor at the Phantom's feet, her hands clutched at his waist in a pleading gesture. Christine was standing a little way away, her tiny hands pushed to her forehead in despair. The phantom was stroking Meg's hair soothingly, yet menacingly, all the time looking at Christine's tear stained face.

As Madame Giry splashed her way over, the Phantom broke his gaze, and turned to face Madame Giry triumphantly. "Well, well, Madame, look at this little scene!" He smirked, opening his hands to show the old woman what he had in his very unpredictable hands.

"I never seemed to thank you for that-that most enchanting evening at the carnival, my dear Giry!" He mused, pulling Meg with him with little protest as he marched over to Christine. He placed his arm around Christine's shoulder, pushing his nose into her curls and inhaling deeply.

"Isn't it strange that if you hadn't found me that night, we wouldn't be standing here today! Isn't it strange how things turn out?" Madame Giry's blood boiled. He always knew what was on her mind, always knew how to turn it to his ability. The Phantom laughed, almost care freely, and shook his head. "But this evening isn't about you, old woman. This evening is about my little darling, Christine!"

He turned to meet her gaze, and Christine froze. Locked in his fiery gaze, she began to shake and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. "Now, my love, I give you an ultimatum. Join me, love me, give me a son to carry on our love and music, or I push your little sister over the edge!" Madame Giry froze as she realised where they were standing. For there, right where her baby girl knelt in terror, was a crashing waterfall, tumbling over a jagged edge and splashing against spike rocks and fallen debris.

Christine let out a sob, realising how much damage she will do with just a few words. The elder woman stood dumbstruck, helpless as Christine's gaze fell to the floor in defeat, before wiping her face with the back of her hand, and facing the Phantom. She smiled, hopelessly.

"You poor thing," she whispered, fighting back the tears and the break in her voice. "You poor, poor thing. If only you knew that you didn't have to do this for me. Let Meg and Madame Giry go. I will stay with you."

"Forever?"

Christine winced at the word, but concealed it quickly. "Forever."

Before the man could respond, Christine had strode over to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips touched his, without tenderness, only passion. It lasted for a long time, long enough for Meg to scramble away from the ledge and to her mother without any notice taken.

When Christine finally pulled away, the Phantom was gasping. He touched his hand to Christine's face, and then to his own scarred version. He looked at his hands, brown and yellow hair tangled through the bloodied fingers. He closed his eyes, a thousand emotions flashing across his face, before a single tear trickled down his monstrous face.

Madame Giry saw Erik return, and he hugged Christine to him for a long moment. He turned to Madame Giry. "I'm sorry, Madame. And to you mademoiselle Giry, please forgive me." He dropped his gaze, and turned to Christine, his eyes still on his hands. "What I would do for you, Christine." He murmured, taking a step away from her. "What I would do for love." Before the three women realised what was happening, Erik had kicked off from the ledge, and fallen the long distance to the rocks below.

With a short yelp, the world fell silent.


	15. Epilogue

**Hello all, sorry about that last chapter. Hope you don't hate me for too long! Hopefully this final chapter will make up for it =]**

An Epilogue:

Christine's eyes flickered awake, again, from a strange recurring dream. Well, not a recurring dream. More like a dream that slowly begins to progress every time you shut your eyes. It was white, and cloudy, and there was a bench. She sat down, in the silence and waited. Every time she awoke, she wondered in frustration who or what she was waiting for.

Recently, the dream has been yielding more fruitful results. A man had begun appearing in the mists far away. Every time he came closer, and every time she woke up earlier, almost screaming in frustration. She lay in bed for a few minutes, slowing her ragged breaths and calming her mind. She sighed. Is the figure him? Is it…no, she could not think of the name. The name she loved so, and the man behind it. Why did he have to be consumed by this evil? By hatred and anger?

Had it been him with any other history, she could have loved him totally. She sighed again. Even so, she did love him totally, even with the sinister part of his mind poisoning him until it was impossible for him to live. She blinked back a tear, as she remembered his crumpled face as he…jumped. She and her family had run before they had time to retrieve the body. For all she knew, it could still be down there.

Christine shuddered, refusing to think about this anymore. Her mind turned to a less dark past. When her father-in-law had passed on, not long after she returned from the Opera House, he had left everything to her. She still could not understand why, as she had refused to be completely honest with him about what happened down there, which maddened him so. The two children she had rescued from the streets recovered quickly, and were housed with Christine in the great mansion.

News of this spread around the streets spread like wildfire, and desperate mothers would hold their babies through the gates to give them a chance of a better life. Within a year, Christine had changed the old mansion into a bright new orphanage, the best in Paris, in fact!

Christine spent all her time upholding the good standard of the orphanage, ensuring the children got a good education, were fed and watered, kept healthy, and loved. She kept herself busy like this for as long as possible, for if she did not, her mind would always slip back to that tragic evening, all those years ago.

Sixty years. Had it really been so long? The time had flown by so fast, that only when her usual smooth white skin began to wrinkle, and her eyes became tight and faded, did Christine realise the destruction of time. She hurriedly began preparing for…for the end.

She had no heir, she had lived alone, giving all her love and effort willingly to the orphanage. She began searching frantically for Meg, who had drifted silently away from Christine once her mother had died. For twenty years, Meg had avoided seeing her sister, as if it was her fault Madame Giry had died.

The woman had died in a serious amount of pain, and was mad with it by the end. Christine flinched as she recalled Madame Giry writhing in bed, her hair splayed around her and her eyes wild. "Erik has done this! He is punishing me! Help me, it is him! Him! Him!" The Doctor had to use a large sedative to woo her into sleep, and from that she never woke up. At that point Meg had turned to her sister, and glared furiously through her tears. "No, Mama, it is not Erik. It is she who tortured him until his death!"

At that point Meg had fled to the country, never to be seen again by Erik's torturer. Christine twisted with guilt each night, as all the people she had hurt flashed through her mind. Raoul. Erik. Madame Giry. Meg. And now Christine had to make things right before she died.

While searching for an heir to keep the orphanage running, she desperately searched the French countryside for her childhood friend. Christine opened her eyes again, to the dark room she had grown accustomed to over her time in this place. She creaked as she walked herself to the old writing desk opposite the bed. She looked at herself in the mirror.

There. Still the small sparkle in her eyes as she twisted to meet the sunlight glinting through the curtains. Her hair, once brown and curly, had drooped until it waved over her tiny shoulders, a silvery veil ending at the small of her back. Her cheekbones and jaw jutted slightly outwards, and the wrinkles at her eyes were deeper than she recalled. She shook her head slowly and looked away. Taking a pen and paper out of a drawer, she began to write a long note;

_Dearest All,_

_Firstly, as I'm sure you're all interested in knowing, is that I have no heir, and evidently I do need one. I have been thinking long and hard, longer and harder than anyone has thought before no doubt, and I have decided to trust my faith in the young Belle Caddalais. She is very wise for her age, respectful while demanding it, and reliable beyond any words can say. I think she will revolutionise this place I have kept my soul in with good grace and a wicked determination._

_Secondly, the time has come to arrange my funeral. Let us be clear I want no tears being shed, by friend or foe. I absolutely request joyful music and, well I suppose a party! I would like to be cremated, if that can be arranged, and I would like to be scattered somewhere that has a part of me there still. The Opera Populaire holds many secrets, and my secrets lie there still. Scatter me in the caves below, you will find a great many things there, but I want it to be completely confidential. The public must not know of it. It would break my heart if any of the stories leaked out. If there is no way to get inside, or no one can find it, contact Meg Giry, who is in France somewhere. Keep looking for her, and tell her I am sorry. More sorry than words can say. Plead my forgiveness, so that I can sleep with her blessing._

_Finally, a word to everyone who has touched my heart over these seventy six years. My children, who have brought me such joy and such happiness. If only you were all my children, for you are all so special and dear to me. Keep yourselves out of mischief, I will be watching! Also, to my staff, and comrades in this quest for happiness, I thank you for sharing my vision. You will find a reward from me, and I shall smile on all of you._

_My dear Raoul, who is still with me. May God keep you well._

_And to Erik._

_Christine Daee._

Christine folded the paper in half, wiping the tears from her eyes. She hoped it would mean something to all her friends. She placed the paper on the bedside table, and folded herself onto the mattress. She smiled, for she knew there would be no more sorrow for her. Christine Daee, world renowned Mother Teresa, soprano and heir to the de Chagny fortune, lay back on her deathbed.

The dream took on a different feel this time. She could hear the soaring vocals of a young soprano, and she smiled as she recognised her shivering voice from all those years ago. She looked for the mysterious man in the clouds, and he came, faster this time, and sat down next to her. They stared at each other for a moment, before Raoul broke into a wide smile.

They hugged fiercely, before breaking apart, tears falling from the two sets of eyes. "Oh Raoul, how I've missed you!" Christine wailed, and Raoul laughed softly, stroking her brown-again hair.

"And I you, Mistress Daee, and I you. But we have to talk now." Christine nodded eagerly, resting her hands lightly on his. Raoul looked away, choosing his words carefully. "I love you," he said, and Christine opened her mouth to answer, but he shook his head.

"I know you love me too, but Christine, I know that you love another." Christine closed her mouth, and frowned. She looked down at her hands, before sighing, and lifting her eyes back up to his.

"I'm so sorry, Raoul. It is true. But it is a strange love, and I'm not completely sure it is true! You have to understand my confusion, my sadness."

"I do, love. But I know more than you. It is true, my darling. The love you have for him is true." Christine's eyes began to flow again, and she opened her mouth once again to apologise. While Raoul once again stopped her. "Christine! For the love of God, do not apologise for love! It is something that is planned for you, there's no fault for loving another!" He laughed sadly, and raised Christine's smooth young hands to hold them to his face. "If I have nothing else," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "it is the knowledge that I had you, for one short time."

He kissed each fingertip, and set them down again. He turned his gaze to over her shoulder. Christine followed his line of sight, and heard a far away voice echoing around.

"Madame Daee?" the scullery maid said anxiously. "Madame Daee, are you alright? Help! Someone help! We need a Doctor!" Christine groaned, the vision fading. She opened her eyes slightly, and saw the tear soaked face of Maria, a girl who cleaned up and gave her company when needed. Christine smiled lightly, touching her hands to the girl's face, and then to the folded paper on the desk.

She closed her eyes again, slipping into the dream. She was standing now, in a beautiful white gown, her hair wound up in its ringlets with diamond pins. She searched for a figure, for Raoul had gone. She worried, standing alone as the choir of children crescendo higher and higher. She turned, and was faced with…an angel.

He was beautiful, with no scars or deadness in his face. His eyes shone as he gazed at her, his black hair swept back smoothly. Small notes wound their way out of his mouth, and in her ecstasy, Christine took the descant. When the song ended, they stared at each other for a long moment. "Erik?" Christine began, the wariness from years ago resurfacing. Erik nodded. "Erik, just Erik." Christine smiled, and fell into his embrace, his kiss. She felt his large hands running through her hair, and down her back. She heard people calling her name from far off, but she ignored them, just whispering his name over and over. "Erik, Erik, Erik."

That is what they did for love.


End file.
